Why I'm Not Suicidal

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Photographer Justin Robinson

Other bendy body Ada Ho

I'm re-using my recent instagram caption as my intro because I wrote it and the algorithms of the internet allow me to assume that only a small fraction of people saw it. I assume even fewer read it because it was attached to a photo that also contained tits.

I aged recently. I'm aging always, but my annual reminder recently occurred. So did #BellLetsTalk - which I feel very conflicted towards.

The conversation is so important - I don't think it should be had through memes.

The differences between distraction and defence and denial are detrimental.

The need to step into and stay present in the physical and rational is undeniable. 

I encourage those that struggle and seek solace online to remember that no matter how integrated we become, our bodies are physical things. 

Your mental state is still a reaction to your physical being and treating mental maladies with physical remedies is the fastest way to shut that shit up. 

Torture is torture and humiliation is humiliation only when you choose to suffer.
— Chuck Palahniuk
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*HUGE FUCKING TRIGGER WARNING*

I firmly believe my entire existence requires a trigger warning, but I am providing a specific one for the things I am about to say in regards to

- anxiety
- depression
- dissociation
- paranoia
- suicide


As per usual (which you would only know if you observe my existence via instagram), I posted this with a bit of boob/butt bendiness to coerce for a click. I followed it up with a very contrived moment; sitting on my yoga mat, petting a dog, reading a book. Intending to show that I practice self care and not just self-colonoscopy.

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I have many of these moments - truthfully my days are mostly these moments. But the one you saw (if you watched) was not real. It was a representation of something that is, but to me that's not the same. 

Being the sociopath I am, I didn't feel anything toward it's fabrication; until others did.

Until I began to receive messages of support and understanding; calling me brave and thanking me for my transparency. 

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That wasn't transparent, but this is: I think the version of ourself that exists on social media is the worst version. The connections we create are primarily exploitative; be that for business or friendship or fucking. The facades we present are so carefully tailored, they are impossible realities. 

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We're self-sentenced to look at the versions of ourselves we will never be capable of being.

And then we choose to hate ourselves over our inability to rise to our own unrealistic expectations.

Then we look at the person next to us (aka the account we creep the most because we don't actually spend time next to other people anymore) and hate ourselves even harder because their lie is better than our lie.

No wonder we're miserable. 

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TL;DR - There is nothing brave about what I posted or the few words that I said because I did so deliberately for your attention. Just because I didn't ask you to buy a laxative tea or password to my snapchat afterwards does not mean I didn't exploit you. 

But just because I didn't do something brave then doesn't mean I'm not capable - at least of trying. And my short human syndrome insists I must. 

So I will tell you how a neurotic skin bag like myself has made it almost 3 decades without playing "down the road - across the street" with my arteries; especially when I know many that did and a few who lost. 

"..."

You had your trigger warning! My blog - my fucked up coping mechanisms; of which there are many.

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They are the reason I am [who I am] and remain alive: I choose to try.

I did not choose my mental maladies - that was never an option I was presented with. They are as inherent as my stature - passed down from those that yelled before me.  

They were my first friends - not so much in the sense that I heard voices, but that they kept me from having any. So I had to befriend myself.

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(No wonder I think I'm so fucking great)

But self-awareness has been the key to survival. My life has been scarred several times by suicide and it would be very reasonable to assume me to be a danger to myself. You wouldn't be the first. I've even joked about it off and on for a decade.

But you'd be wrong; at least currently. I can somehow make the statement that I have never felt nor physically been a danger to myself. I cannot make the statement that I will never feel nor physically be a danger to myself. Sometimes this surprised even me. But as a human that grew up isolated on the internet with an IQ that I attempted to annihilate with inebriation, I inadvertently found and figured out that self-care shit pretty quickly. I had to. Time was not on my side. 

I didn't know it that at the time - I thought I was just being a weirdo in my bedroom. I didn't realize that online friendships would ever leave that little world I lived in. I didn't think having personal projects was a form of therapy. I never realized my bizarre bendiness was a very rudimentary form of yoga.

I never felt right, but I always felt okay.  Sometimes it got dark and that's when I had to reach out. I didn't have a lot of humans, but I had a few undeniably epic ones that I don't think I could have survived without. I had a best friend that indulged me in both my idiocy and intelligence and was always a source of stability and reason. And I had a boyfriend that never saw me as my struggle or made me feel less than. My support system was small, but strong as fuck.

It does not surprise me (or anyone I tell) that they grew up to be doctors. 

I grew up privileged - both in circumstance and in having these keys to survival. Not everyone will be so lucky. So I don't think I'm brave. I chose to try - really hard. And it worked. So maybe I'm informed and I can try and give you that:

1. Support Systems

They are not your safety net, they are your sounding board. You must become your own safety net because you are the only one living your reality. They are your source of reason and stability when the thoughts get twisted and the fuckery festers. They are your reality reminders. Do not abuse them or lean on them. They are places for temporary pause and recovery, not residence. 

2. Self Care

Laziness is still laziness. True, sometimes we can't - and that's okay. When energy and efforts must be limited, you need to know how to say no nicely. But sometimes we can and just choose not to.  Effective self-care demands you also be self-aware. Otherwise your efforts will be ineffective.

It seems like such a simple solution for survival. But those that live with the darkness know how real it is and how much work it takes to look that mother fucker in the mouth every single day and say "no". It's tiring, I know. 

But you have two choices: try or don't.

Success was never on the table because this game never ends. And that's the one thing that still puts a lump in my throat - I'll never get to the end. I can never do enough to make it stop. I can never be enough to make it end.

This is forever.

So some things I can't say for sure. I drink green things and use my arms and legs a lot because currently I want to be here for the long haul & I got that darkness on a pretty short leash.  But right now I'm strong. I wasn't always. Maybe it'll stay or maybe it'll fade. I've seen both. But I already fear spiders nesting in my hair and un-dead Mischa Barton living under my bed, I'm not going to let more uncertain certainly irrational bullshit run my life. 

And if one day I feel it has gotten too dark and too destructive to go on, I reserve the right to hit my own eject button. But every day up until that day is mine to fill with debauchery and dairy. And I fully fucking intend to. 

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We are all destined to die. And I do not intent to live any differently based on how that will happen. 

So if that were to ever become the case, know there's nothing you could have done or said; because it was never your job. Reserve no blame for yourself; because I was never your responsibility. 

Because I choose to be my own. I choose to live and choose to remain alive and I am the only one that can do that for me. 

Taylor Oakes